Our second quest was finished, and when we put Sir Perschetti's
Hallowed Ale on the wizard's tray, I half wondered if we might be done. But the momentary
black of his spell brought us to a new location, and sure enough, words were written on
the tray again.

"A pair of saddlebags containing equal measures of earth from
two sources. 1: The center of the Gods' Battlefield, and 2: Under Torm's Seat in the
garden of the tabernacle of Torm."

Neither of these sounded inviting, although I was again relieved
to find that our mysterious employer wasn't going to try to demand any black acts from us
in the end. We looked around and found ourselves in a cool area, near forests, on top of a
cliff that afforded us a beautiful view of an ocean - I've never seen so much water! - and
our surroundings. To our left, within an hour's walk, lie a monstrous crater, blackened
and raw. And to our right, even a bit closer, lie a large city. It didn't take any leaps
of intelligence to label the crater as the Gods' Battlefield and the city as Tantras, the
home of Torm's greatest worship, and his tabernacle.

We held a hurried consultation, although I was a bit distracted by
the sights of that ocean. The Gods' Battlefield was the site of Torm and Bane's final
struggle, of course, the one where the evil god was slain at the end of the Time of
Troubles. Strange magics and lingering effects were said to still pool in that crater.
Tantras, by comparison, looked to be fairly easy. None of us knew for sure what Torm's
Seat would be, or how readily dirt from beneath it might be available, but at least it was
a known territory. So, of course, we chose to visit the Battlefield first.

The boundary of the Battlefield is shocking. It's perfectly
circular, straight and smooth, and within an inch of space grassy, fertile field turns
into black, charred, overturned earth. Not even the birds above fly over it. And the
boundary didn't just enclose a change in the land. The moment we stepped over that line,
B'rinth sat down heavily on the ground, Nory looked around as if suddenly lost, and
Borreau turned pale as milk. Only Verence, the one who worships the goddess of magic, was
protected; apparently magic is turned all on its head within that crater, and all of our
magicians and clerics felt the impact of it. B'rinth flatly refused to go farther, and
waited for us on the grass. The rest continued along, although Nory looked more frightened
than I've ever seen the little gnome.

Other than the strange magic effect, and the giant footprints sear
in glassed dirt in the center of the crater, we were able to retrieve a bagful of earth
without difficulty. All of us were glad to scamper back to the grass of normal earth,
normal magic, and normal influence of the gods again. So with half our quest already
completed, we hiked through peaceful, beautiful land to Tantras.

Tantras was a well-guarded city, but in the case of lawful
citizens like we were, that simply provided us with more people to ask about a place to
stay and the location of Torm's Tabernacle. As it turned out, the Tabernacle was easy to
find; it rested in the exact center of the city, on the highest plateau, as the tallest
building in Tantras. The city takes their worship of Torm seriously.

And that fact worried me as we found a serviceable inn to spend
the night. I felt like a skulker for even suggesting it, but when we found out that we had
time to catch the final tour of Torm's Tabernacle, I suggested that we all stay apart from
each other at the temple, and that I would go alone to ask for the earth under Torm's
seat. That way, if we needed to resort to sneakier methods of getting this dirt, the staff
of the temple would not immediately know us all. Not surprisingly, I suppose, the rest of
the party readily agreed to the suggestion, and even Borreau did not question it.

The tour of the Tabernacle was impressive; Torm himself had walked
this city during the Time of Troubles, and nearly everything you saw was now sacred to the
Torm worshippers. My last hopes of easily retrieving our dirt flickered, though, when I
finally saw Torm's seat. It stood inside an inner garden in the center of the tabernacle.
It was Torm's favorite spot to ponder during his visit here in Faerun, and so now the
garden was sealed, hardly ever entered, and there stood the seat in the center of it all.
Nevertheless, after the tour was over and the rest of the visitors, pilgrims, and my party
had been escorted to the outer reaches, the guide showed me to the offices of Precentor
Monso, the administrator of the Tabernacle.

Unfaithful stories are not in my blood, Master Garen, and though I
distinctly heard moans when I later retold my story to the party members, I told Precentor
Monso the simple truth of what I hoped to retrieve. The large, balding cleric seemed
reluctant to even give credit to what I was saying until I told him the name Buvarik of
our mysterious employer. It was like watching the ears of a hunting dog perk up, and I
suddenly began to hope that I might be granted our favor with the cost of only some large
sum of money. But to my amazement, without further question, Precentor Monso took me with
him, had an acolyte retrieve a shovel, and brought me inside the holy garden to dig out my
patch of earth from beneath the giant throne. The only price Monso asked was that I return
in person to report to him whether "Buvarik's experiment is successful." I
practically begged him to tell me what work we were involved in, but the official said
that such information was only Buvarik's to give, and that our word to him should not be
entrusted to any courier.

I was frustrated to be so close to answers and still not able to
grasp them, but I carefully took our earth, gave all due thanks to the kind Precentor, and
showed my heels to Torm's Tabernacle with a great deal of relief. Our quest items were in
our hands. I gave the full report to the party on my return to the inn, interrupting their
plans for a full-scale invasion, and we spent a peaceful night and hearty breakfast before
ending our quest and placing our saddlebags on the magician's tray.

This time, my hopes were actually rather high that we might be
finished. Surely, not much stranger could await us than these two saddlebags. But after
the engulfing black passed over us again, the immediate blast of cold told us we were
nowhere near any magician's den. It seems our "up to four" items to be retrieved
would, indeed, be four. The cold and gusting winds with snow even distracted us from the
tray for a moment as we sought shelter. Thanks to the gentle power of the ring of warmth
you yourself gave me, master, I was the first to alight eyes on what was written on the
tray, and the shock of it made me drop it into the snow while the others scrambled for
cloaks.

"Five gold dragon scales"

How could such an impossibility be written in such a short phrase?
True, gold dragons are the most noble of the great wyrms, and would present us no danger
as prey, but even the great dragons are notoriously intolerant of visitors, let alone
favor-seekers. They are more frequently plagued by treasure-hunters, so what would
distinguish us from such slaughterers to spare us from being instantly destroyed?

Such were my doubts as we climbed the trail up to the top of the
mountain peak we had been placed on. We hadn't even walked more than a few hundred feet
when we came to a great gulf that, in the blowing snow and darkness, looked as though it
dropped into the center of the earth. One suspension bridge crossed the gulf, and on the
opposite side, a campfire burned with people milling about it.

We discussed our options in the howling wind, and we decided that
I would cross the bridge alone first, with a rope that the others would hold, in case
trouble with the bridge or the people on the other side arose. We couldn't be sure whether
those people might be guardians of the dragon, perhaps even zealous worshippers of it, or
thieves or assassins hoping to plunder the dragon's carcass and lair. There was no way to
know except to cross and find out.

And so I tied the rope around my waist, and to our dismay, B'rinth
began making his own plans and casting spells to go across before we knew the measure of
what we faced. We tried to talk him out of proceeding with me, but that stubborn elf would
no more listen to us than follow the plan we had agreed to. Someday his strange
combination of joining a party just to act on his own will bring disaster on his head or
on all ours, but with little to do unless we cared to physically restrain him again, I
walked on across the bridge.

As I neared the far side, the group at the first spotted me. A
pair of twins, strong-looking young blonde fellows, ran towards the bridge, and I ran as
close to the edge as I could, holding out my hands without weapons, hoping to calm them.
They immediately pulled blades, though, and began to hack at the bridge's support ropes,
which made me think perhaps they were protectors of the dragon after all. I tried to push
my way through, but then I heard a loud, clear woman's voice from the campfire. She called
out that our party should be slaughtered because we loved goodness, and one of the twin's
blades swung right at my head.

I was actually relieved to have no more doubts. I drew my weapons
and attacked without reservation. My first strike sent one of the scimitars flying, and
then I got my first clue that not all was as it seemed. As I watched, the disarmed twin's
hand flattened and sharpened to become a replacement blade for him. I felt the bridge
shake as my friends began to cross it as quickly as they could, even though one of the
twins was still trying to hack through the ropes. I tried to wrestle my way through to get
onto solid land, make room for the rest of the Wayfarers, and to get these things away
from the bridge, and as my sword found a home in one of their bellies, its shape melted
into a thin, bald, almost featureless creature - a doppleganger.

Now we knew the nature of at least some of our enemies, but I
heard Verence call out behind us, sounding almost the same as the woman's voice earlier.
"Drow!" he called. I immediately remembered the woman's voice near the fire. I
have no idea how Verence had figured out her nature, but my course was set. Borreau and
Telaran were at my heels; they could take care of this remaining doppleganger, and I could
push past to clear out a hated drow. And so I kicked into a sudden run straight for the
fire.

I was taken aback - literally - by one small problem. When trouble
had begun brewing, Telaran and the others had tied down the rope about my waist at the far
side of the gorge to offer me extra protection. Instead, it ended up giving me extra leash
before snapping me back with a gut- wrenching yank. I ended up with every mote of air
knocked out of my lungs, flat on my back in the snow.

And from my low vantage point, as I struggled to my feet, I saw
the arrival of another enemy. This one was strange-looking, indeed, a small, bald man with
yellow skin and a strange way of moving that looked almost like water. He slithered with
amazing speed and sudden stops right to the edge of the gorge and started flailing at the
edge. My only guess was that B'rinth and perhaps others of our party were trying to sneak
across over there.

From the snowy reaches of the campfire, where the hated drow woman
was supposed to be, a bolt of lightning shot over my head and struck the bridge. I glanced
over my shoulder to see Borreau recovering from impact, but at least he was still on his
feet. I finally managed to cut through my tether and continue to kick through the snow
towards the campsite.

Verence hadn't led me wrong; a drow woman stood sneering at me,
waiting for my approach. She was damnably fast, and she and I traded blows while the
sounds of the rest of the fight echoed through the wind behind me. It was hard to not be
distracted; I could only hope the rest of the party was faring all right. I saw one more
fellow out of the corner of my eye - a huge, red ogre of a man who steamed in the snow -
but he disappeared from sight almost immediately. It wasn't until after I finally drove my
dagger home in the drow woman's throat and was able to spin around that I caught some
measure of what had been going on behind me.

Borreau and Telaran had dispatched the second doppleganger without
problems, but their attention was now divided between the yellow slitherer and the other
side of the gorge. I followed their gaze to see that huge red steamer who had been beside
the campfire a scant moment ago. He was now on the other side of the gorge, without a
trace, and stood over Verence's back as the magician struggled to his elbows. And as I
watched, lights shot from his fingertips and drove Nory straight to the ground.

It was clear where the more trouble lie, and while Borreau squared
off against the short yellow man, Telaran took off across the bridge, and I strung my bow.
I shot once, twice, while Verence scampered madly from the blows of the red giant.
Mielikki herself must have blessed my last shot, because it drove into the head of the
beast like a spike, and he crumpled to the ground at Verence's feet while Telaran rushed
to help him and Nory.

Now, though, we had one last concern. The little yellow man
suddenly sprung away from Borreau - the beast moved like lightning - and headed toward me.
I was left scrambling for the sword at my feet, totally open, but then magic light bolted
over my shoulder and straight into the chest of the yellow man. I had forgotten B'rinth,
who now appeared behind me at the edge of the campsite. The creature was slowed down, but
not stopped, and though I managed to cut flesh for it, he hit my shoulder with a strangely
shaking hand.

The next thing I knew, I was curled up in the snow in pain, mostly
blind, and freezing cold. My brain was so clouded over I could barely think, but I saw
yellow above that I knew was danger, and though I slithered and slid aside as best I
could, he seemed to have become a giant. He got nothing but bigger as he finally fell over
me, and as his body shook the ground around me, pain struck again as I grew, and
lengthened, and reformed. It wasn't until I curled up around myself again, this time with
hands to grasp and legs to shiver, that I realized I hadn't been myself. Borreau stood
over the body of the yellow man, his weapons bloodied and eyes frenzied, and I began to
piece the last of the clues of the past three seconds together. My clothes - and my warm
ring - lay in a heap around me. Borreau explained that the yellow creature - whose eyes
looked serpentine and skin scaly - had turned me into some kind of snake with his touch. I
pulled the ring on first, and returning to heat let only the shock shake me as I pulled my
clothes and my gear back on.

The battle was finished, praise all the gods, and we were now
safely on the other side of the gorge. But where to go next? We were barely beginning to
try to plan when, through the driving wind and snow, a bright yellow canary flew steadily
right for us. It struck us all dumb as wood as this peaceful canary settled right on my
shoulder, pecked my cheek with a kiss, and then dove to the ground in the midst of us to
reform into a man with golden blonde hair. None of us had to be told, by the time he had
finished a strange bow for us, that we had found our golden dragon in the last way we
expected.

He was grateful to us for clearing out these brigands, for they
had indeed been planning to slaughter the dragon and steal his wealth. He offered us
recompense, which of course we immediately asked for in the form of five scales, and
explained the reason why. He immediately agreed, disappearing for a moment to reappear
with five scales the size of small shields of bright, shimmering gold. They were
absolutely beautiful. He told us we were in the midst of the Dragonspine Mountains, and
that his home lay on one of the peaks above. He granted us healing that would take care of
most of the wounds we had taken for his sake, and before he left, I spoke up with a
request I hoped he wouldn't feel too bold; I asked to see his true form before he goes. I
was now burning with curiosity to see a golden dragon in full form.

He smiled and nodded, and in the field beside the campfire, turned
before our eyes into a serpent as long as a row of buildings, bright and shimmering, with
impossibly small, delicate-looking wings, and a whiskered face so full of power and wisdom
that I lost my breath. He was amazing, and took flight for the peaks without a care for
the howling winds in the slightest.

We had our last item at last, and we quickly put it on the tray to
get out of this harsh weather. True to the wizard's word, our blackness this time brought
us to the stone walls of an elaborate castle, with murals and tiles covering almost every
flat surface in bewildering, exotic patterns. We had reached the home of Buvarik, and
Cadiphal, the short, dark-skinned man who had started us on this adventure, awaited us.

Cadiphal was most pleased to see us and to see the success we had
made of our errands. He promised us a fine dinner with Buvarik and time to speak with him,
but bade us to make use of his hospitality until dinnertime. We had to ask, a bit
sheepishly, what time it could possibly be, but were happy to be led - in some of our
cases, by strange golem-ish walking machines - to rooms that looked as exotic as they did
luxurious. Cadiphal led Borreau and I to one room without even asking, and left us with a
warm room and a steaming bath that was unlike any of the baths we've seen in Arabel.
Instead of just the water steaming, here the whole room seemed to radiate heat, with the
strange tile covering every inch of the floor and walls in patterns and murals showing
people in strange turbans and robes. It was almost magical, it was so enticing, and we
were actually reluctant to be called away for the dinner hour.

At last, we met our mysterious Buvarik. He was a dark-skinned man
with wild black hair and robes of deep colors wrapped around him. While we ate a delicious
dinner with strange spices in it, he explained that we were in the capital city of Amn, a
land an ocean away from home to the north and the west. Buvarik not only agreed to tell us
the results of his "experiment," but invited us to attend the casting of his
spell.

We readily agreed, and met with him in a strangely-shaped room
full of inscribed pentagrams in the stone of the floor. No strange tiles here; this room
had absolutely nothing in it that might disrupt the symmetry of the etchings on the floor.
We began to get an inkling of what was ahead as he sealed us inside our own pentagram
inscriptions, instructing us not to dare move or disturb the spell. He spent the next few
hours casting in strange languages, and we saw each of our errand items go into the
casting of this spell. And in the last, in the center of the room, imprisoned in the most
powerful pentagram of all, a huge creature, swelling with anger, eyes red as blood and
skin black as a drow's, formed together.

This demon didn't seem concerned at first, taunting and ridiculing
Buvarik, telling him his quest to be rid of him was for naught, until Buvarik finally
called him by the name of Graz'zt, and ordered him banished for Buvarik's lifetime, and
barred from harming he or his. The roars of that demon almost brought the walls in on us,
but this prince of the hells was finally sucked away, like mist in the morning sun, and
the exhausted Buvarik grimly bid us good night. His job was done, as was ours, and in the
morning we would be sent onwards.

Borreau and I returned to our lavish rooms and spent a decadent
evening, as I'm sure the others did too, although probably not with such company. I came
to a conclusion that has been becoming more and more inescapable these past weeks, that I
am in love with this kind cleric, and I declared so to him as we spoke that night. I don't
know what the worth is of the love of an owned woman, but I would do neither you, he, nor
I any good by denying that it exists. I guess that, come Midsummer's Day, we'll have quite
a lot to talk about, not just for the adventures we've seen since our last meeting.

In the morning, everyone looked well-rested and we reeked of the
bath oils those heavenly waters were filled with. Buvarik met us one final time, gave us
our payment, and, as promised, let us each choose one of his supply's potions. After the
hurts we had seen in our adventures, I immediately took a healing bottle. B'rinth took a
potion that would give explosive power to his weapons, Telaran and Borreau both took
potions that would let them fly, and Nory one that would make water like air to his
breath, all useful things to have. Verence's choice was the strangest; he took a potion of
youth, one that would reverse age. I'm not sure why Verence fears aging so, but perhaps
he'll explain it on another road some evening.

Buvarik will now be sending us back to Tantras, so that I can
report to Precentor Monso as I promised. From there, we'll be seeking travel back to home,
and Midsummer's Day not too far beyond. It will be good to be home after such a strange
batch of travels, and to walk in our own lands again. And so, I end this letter, and
remain, as always,

Your faithful servant,

--Jade

The Jade Letters are the property and copyright of Beth Griese, not to be published or
redistributed without permission.